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May. 22nd, 2005 07:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7Many things to do today. Awoke very early, and have been sitting here a little more than an hour making, of all things, a playlist for my iPod to play during the party. I am not such a skilled playlist maker as Dave, however; I simply scroll through my music collection and randomly pick stuff I like that suits my mood, and throw it into the playlist. So I've fiveish hours of music i like that wouldn't offend others, and that's about it.
If I let Dave do it, it'd take him three hours.
If anyone notices the music at all, Chris will insist on playing with the iPod and making his own playlist, which we'll then not listen to most of while Corey, in his turn, seizes control, and so on and so forth, so I am not going to invest very much effort or emotion in this playlist.
I would be cleaning, I tell myself, but I want to let Dave sleep until at least 8:00, and he's right there in the next room. I did sleep there last night (his bed is so comfy and so much warmer than mine given that it contains, well, him... Sigh) but I seem to have arisen without waking him. But every time I go puttering through the house I hear him turn over, so I don't think any heavy cleaning's getting done. I might clean my room a little but only if I can be quiet.
(Uh-oh. Is the typing waking him? I hear him turning over again. *types quietly*)
Al is even spikier and more pissed-off this morning, but refuses to die. He keeps glaring at me every time I bend over to look into the bowl. He has always hated me and now he hates me More Than Anything. God, if he doesn't make it, I'm going to miss him. There's nothing cuter than a two-inch-long antagonistic pet incapable of making noise and confined to a tank. He bit me once, but has no teeth and his mouth is too small to so much as pinch me. And he always took so much pleasure in his antagonism. He has never made any secret of his hunger for my flesh and his ardent desire to kill anything that moves except maybe Shirley if he can figure which stimulus she's supposed to trigger. Oh, I should post a picture of him: here he is in an aggressive display, when we first put him into the Fooshie Palace. That gallery has other pictures of him and the Palace, and the other fish, btw. He is, for the technically minded, a classic petshop betta: a veiltail with butterfly coloration, primarily blue with crimson coloration in the lower fins; we think perhaps the other two fish are more disease-resistant because they are less typical. Neither have such elaborate fin structure nor have they solid coloring. The conclusion is that Al is probably far more inbred than either of them, which is why he's so pretty. (Inbreeding makes prettier/faster/more-whatever-trait-you-want animals. Which is why racehorses are so, so dumb.)
I have what appear to be paperwhites blooming in the little flowerbed by my door. They smell lovely.
Ohhh, I don't want to clean this pigsty.
If I let Dave do it, it'd take him three hours.
If anyone notices the music at all, Chris will insist on playing with the iPod and making his own playlist, which we'll then not listen to most of while Corey, in his turn, seizes control, and so on and so forth, so I am not going to invest very much effort or emotion in this playlist.
I would be cleaning, I tell myself, but I want to let Dave sleep until at least 8:00, and he's right there in the next room. I did sleep there last night (his bed is so comfy and so much warmer than mine given that it contains, well, him... Sigh) but I seem to have arisen without waking him. But every time I go puttering through the house I hear him turn over, so I don't think any heavy cleaning's getting done. I might clean my room a little but only if I can be quiet.
(Uh-oh. Is the typing waking him? I hear him turning over again. *types quietly*)
Al is even spikier and more pissed-off this morning, but refuses to die. He keeps glaring at me every time I bend over to look into the bowl. He has always hated me and now he hates me More Than Anything. God, if he doesn't make it, I'm going to miss him. There's nothing cuter than a two-inch-long antagonistic pet incapable of making noise and confined to a tank. He bit me once, but has no teeth and his mouth is too small to so much as pinch me. And he always took so much pleasure in his antagonism. He has never made any secret of his hunger for my flesh and his ardent desire to kill anything that moves except maybe Shirley if he can figure which stimulus she's supposed to trigger. Oh, I should post a picture of him: here he is in an aggressive display, when we first put him into the Fooshie Palace. That gallery has other pictures of him and the Palace, and the other fish, btw. He is, for the technically minded, a classic petshop betta: a veiltail with butterfly coloration, primarily blue with crimson coloration in the lower fins; we think perhaps the other two fish are more disease-resistant because they are less typical. Neither have such elaborate fin structure nor have they solid coloring. The conclusion is that Al is probably far more inbred than either of them, which is why he's so pretty. (Inbreeding makes prettier/faster/more-whatever-trait-you-want animals. Which is why racehorses are so, so dumb.)
I have what appear to be paperwhites blooming in the little flowerbed by my door. They smell lovely.
Ohhh, I don't want to clean this pigsty.
